


Cabin Fever

by meesha1971



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Desus Holiday Bingo 2k17, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meesha1971/pseuds/meesha1971
Summary: Daryl and Jesus take shelter in a remote cabin after Jesus gets sick during a supply run.





	Cabin Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AbigailHT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailHT/gifts), [CanonCannon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/gifts).



> Written for Desus Holiday Bingo 2k17. Prompts: hobbies, nightmare before Christmas, make up your own prompt (Jesus getting sick), snow, and camping. I'm going for a BINGO all in one. Thanks to everyone in the Desus squad for organizing this!

Splitting up had been a mistake.  In fact, Jesus was starting to think that going on this run at all had been a mistake.  He was exhausted.  Between the war and rebuilding, none of them had really had time to rest properly. He was feeling lightheaded and his head was beginning to throb.  He promised himself a long rest when this was over.  He really needed it.  He knew he should have stayed at Hilltop and taken advantage of the downtime, but he hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to spend some time alone with Daryl.  As impossible as it seemed, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe there could be more than friendship between them.  

Finding the apothecary had been a blessing.  Daryl had spotted it and mentioned that Denise had told him an apothecary should have medicines.  Of course, Jesus had volunteered to check it out while Daryl went on to check the sporting goods store so they could stay on schedule.  Daryl was supposed to pick him up in two hours so they could hit the food bank together.  If all went well, they would be done well before dark and have time to find a decent place to set up camp for the night. But as his head throbbed painfully, he was already regretting that decision.

Jesus banged his fist against the door and rubbed his hands together to warm them up as he waited to see if there were any walkers inside.  Even with the gloves, his beanie, and all the layers he wore it was freezing.  Snowflakes drifted over his hands.  “Great”, he said to himself with a sigh.  “Just perfect.”  Vaguely hoping it would just be flurries, he examined the building.  The doors and windows appeared to be intact.  Maybe something could go right today.

Jesus banged on the door intermittently for 15 minutes but he didn’t see or hear anything inside.  He opened the door and slipped inside carefully, just in case.  It appeared to be clear but he knew that looks could be deceiving.  It seemed that Lady Luck had finally decided to smile on him.  There were still plenty of supplies they could scavenge here.  It was mostly herbal remedies but there were books on how to use them, plenty of ingredients, and a few regular medicines.  The kits for making soap and candles could be useful.  He decided to box up everything he could so he and Daryl could load it into the truck later.  Spotting a bottle of aspirin, he opened it and chewed up four tablets in hopes that it would ease the throbbing in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Jesus rolled a dolly with the last of the boxes over to the stacks by the door.  He leaned against the wall to catch his breath.  The aspirin hadn’t helped at all.  The throbbing in his head now felt like someone trying to pound spikes through his skull. He was sweating, and the room seemed unbearably hot.  He cracked the door open to let some of the cold air in, hoping that would clear his head.  At this point, he didn’t care what was in the boxes.  They could sort it all out later.  He just wanted to be done.  His chest felt tight, and the light hurt his eyes.   _Two days_ , he promised himself.  When they got back, he was taking two days to just rest and do nothing.

By the time Daryl got back, there were several inches of snow piling up.  He maneuvered the truck down the slick road carefully to park in front of the apothecary.  Jesus stepped out, pushing a dolly loaded up with boxes.  He’d pulled his bandanna over his face so all Daryl could see were his eyes.  Fumbling the keys into his pocket, Daryl opened the back of the truck and began to unload the dolly.

“You’ve been busy,” he commented as Jesus handed him the last box.

“Lot of good stuff,” Jesus said, rubbing his temple as he followed Daryl back into the apothecary.  He moved slowly, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.  “Mostly herbal remedies but I think Dr. Carson will appreciate anything we can bring back.  Did you have any luck?”

“Some bows and arrows,” Daryl said as he loaded the dolly up.  “Good boots, campin’ gear, and some clothes.”  He pushed the dolly back out to the truck as Jesus followed carrying a couple of boxes.  “Found a baby place next door.  Got some bottles and formula.  More clothes, diapers, and some contraption for makin’ baby food.”

“Maggie will love that.”

Daryl just nodded and they finished loading the truck in silence.  Jesus was glad they were having so much success on this run but he just wanted to lay down and close his eyes for a while.  The sun glaring off the fresh snow was only making his headache worse and he was starting to feel dizzy.  If he could just sleep for a little while, he was sure he’d be fine.  But they had to finish.  One more stop.  They’d get whatever they could at the food bank and then he could rest.  He climbed into the passenger side of the truck and leaned back in the seat.  He could at least rest his eyes while they drove to the food bank.

“You okay, man?”  Daryl asked as he started the truck.  Jesus was being too quiet and he was so pale.

“I’m fine,” Jesus said, turning the heat up.  “Just cold and the glare off the snow makes my head hurt.”

“We can hit the food bank tomorrow,” Daryl said as he pulled away from the curb.  “Tara said there’s a cabin around here.  Off the road, pretty well hidden.  She marked it on the map.  We can go there now and rest up if you want.”

Jesus was tempted to agree.  A cabin might have a bed he could sleep in.  But that wasn’t the plan.  “No.  Let’s get it done.  We can rest at the cabin tonight and head back tomorrow.”

The food bank was a mixed blessing.  It hadn’t been hit so there was still food to scavenge, but it was surrounded by walkers so they had to work for it.  Jesus was relieved that Daryl agreed to his plan to lure the walkers away.  He didn’t feel up to a fight.  It was getting harder to focus through the pounding in his head and every movement was an effort.  Snow had seeped into his boots so his feet were wet and cold.  He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, but the cold leather didn’t help.  Each box he carried to the truck felt heavier than the last.  He shifted his grip to maneuver a large box in and leaned back against the truck to catch his breath.

He didn’t even hear the walker that grabbed him.  It came around the side of the truck, jaw widening as it clamped on Jesus’s arm.  He shouted and shoved it away but the momentum caused him to slip in the snow.  He landed hard on his back and the walker fell on top of him.  It took all of his strength to keep a grip on the thing’s throat so it couldn’t bite his face.  He heard a swooshing sound and the walker slumped against him, the arrow protruding from the side of it’s head.  He shoved it away and shakily got to his feet, staggering forward.  Daryl caught him before he fell again.

“You okay?”  Daryl patted at Jesus’s clothes.  “You bit?”

“No.  I don’t think so,” Jesus looked down at his arm.  “Just caught the coat.”

Daryl just nodded, relief flooding through him.  He helped Jesus lean against the truck.  He’d never seen him look so unsteady before.  “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jesus said, leaning back against the truck with his eyes closed.  He sniffled and wiped his arm across his nose again.  “Just shook up.  That thing came out of nowhere.”

Daryl fought back the urge to yell at Jesus for not being more careful.  He looked like he was ready to keel over and his face looked blotchy and flushed.  “We’re done,” he said shortly.

“I said I’m fine,” Jesus protested, pushing himself away from the truck.  “I can help you finish loading the truck.”

“No,” Daryl said, shaking his head.  “We’re done.  I brought out the last of the boxes just before …”  He trailed off.  He didn’t want to think about seeing Jesus wrestling with that walker on the ground or the fear that had gripped him.  He could only be grateful that the cold and the snow made the walkers even slower as their bodies froze.

“Oh,” Jesus said, staring at the boxes Daryl had dropped.  “I can help …”

“I got it,” Daryl said, leading Jesus around to the cab of the truck.  “You did the last load.”

Jesus didn’t argue.  He was too tired and the pounding in his head was only getting worse.  His clothes were soaked through from his tumble into the snow.  He shivered and sneezed as he climbed slowly into the truck.  He slumped in the seat, his heart beating erratically, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from excitement or the malaise that gripped him. He was dizzy and weak. His throat felt sore and scratchy.  He found the bottle of aspirin in his pocket and washed some down with a bottle of water from the console.

Daryl climbed into the driver’s seat after he finished loading the truck and checked the map.  The cabin Tara had told him about wasn’t far.  He glanced over at Jesus as he pulled away from the curb and saw he was shivering so he reached over to turn the heater up.  Jesus smiled at him and huddled into his coat, occasionally sniffling and wiping his nose.  With growing concern, Daryl followed the route to the cabin.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Jesus said quietly.

“How do you know?”  Daryl asked.

“Crystal keeps a calendar,” Jesus responded, reaching for the bottle of water again.  His throat was so dry and scratchy.  “At first, she was counting the days until it was over – hoping someone would find a cure or the government would show up and tell everyone what to do.”  He drained the bottle of water and started looking for more.  “Then she just decided to keep track so we wouldn’t forget.  Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries – she’s got all that stuff written down,” he trailed off sleepily, sniffling and wiping his nose again.

“Huh.”  Daryl hadn’t bothered keeping track of anything like that.  Some of them still had watches – like Rick – and that had come in handy, but holidays had lost their significance.  Not that they’d ever had much significance for him.  Christmas in the Dixon household had generally consisted of a pitiful plastic tree and the old man handing out cartons of cigarettes and beer to him and Merle with a slurred, “Merry Christmas boys,” before passing out.  But now …

“Maybe we should do something for the kids,” Jesus mumbled.

“Maybe we could,” Daryl said.  “L’il Asskicker and Hershel Jr. deserve some fun.”

“Hit some houses on the way back,” Jesus murmured.  “People save stuff – decorations, wrapping paper …”

Daryl let him ramble on, half listening while he focused on the road and made the turn off to the cabin.  The snow was coming down heavier now.  He had been worried about the tracks the truck would leave in the snow, but at this rate, they’d be covered up with fresh snow soon enough.  He hoped the cabin wasn’t too much farther.  He didn’t like how Jesus sounded.  His voice was getting raspy and there was a crackling sound when he breathed.  His face was still flushed.  When Jesus reached towards the console, Daryl handed him his own bottle of water and made a mental note to get more out of the back when they stopped.

He spotted the cabin and parked in a copse of trees nearby.  With all the snow, the truck should be hidden well enough.  It was already over his ankles and soaking through his pants.  Jesus was already wet from his fall into it earlier.  He had to be miserable in this cold.  But he followed Daryl to the back of the truck.

“Go on in and see if there’s any firewood.  You’re freezin’.”

“I’m fine,” Jesus insisted.  “I can help.”

“You’re not fine,” Daryl blurted out.  “You’re soaked to the bone and wheezin’ like my granny’s kettle.  Need to get out of this cold air.”

“I can take some stuff with me.”

“Just go see if there’s any firewood.  Gettin’ a fire goin’ will help.  I got this.”

With a huff, Jesus turned and began slogging his way through the snow to the cabin.  He wasn’t an invalid, he thought bitterly.  Just because he felt like shit didn’t mean he couldn’t pull his weight.  He could work through it.  He’d been doing that all day, hadn’t he?  The pounding in his head increased with every breath and the icy air burned in his lungs.  A fit of coughing caught him by surprise and he slipped in the snow, falling on his ass again.  _At least there isn’t a walker trying to bite my face off this time_ , he thought groggily as the light started to dim. He heard Daryl shout and then felt his strong arms pick him up.

“Christ, you’re burnin’ up,” Daryl said as he helped him walk to the door.

“I’m ….”

“If you say you’re fine, I’m gonna pull your tongue out and tie it in a knot.”

Daryl ignored Jesus’ frown and dumped him on a small sofa inside the cabin so he could check the fireplace.  He was relieved to see there was enough wood to get a fire going.  He’d have to find more though.  He pulled out his lighter to set the kindling aflame and tried to push back memories of burying friends with blood running from their eyes.

“Daryl, you don’t have to …”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not a child,” Jesus tried to shout, but his voice was weak and thready.

“You’re sick.  You damn near killed yourself twice today.  I ain’t lettin’ another friend die on my watch.”

Without waiting for Jesus to respond, Daryl strode out of the cabin and let the door slam behind him.  Jesus stared at the door in shock, his thoughts whirling.  He didn’t need a keeper.  He just needed to rest for a while and he’d be fine.  Daryl was overreacting.  He started coughing again and, winded, leaned back into the cushions of the sofa.  _Great.  Perfect end to a perfect day._   Morosely, he looked around the cabin.  It was a big, open space with two doors.  Probably not a bedroom since there was a double bed behind the sofa

Daryl came back in, letting the door slam again.  He set his pack and a box near the fireplace along with a bucket full of snow and left the room.  Jesus could hear cabinets slamming and Daryl muttering.  He came back and, after moving the bucket closer to the fire, started setting things out on the floor.  A kettle, water, a bag of what looked like dried berries and herbs, and a couple of mugs.  He put some water in the kettle and hung it over the fire, then glanced at Jesus, his face stony.

“Get out of them wet clothes,” he said curtly.

“Daryl, I don’t appreciate …”

“Maggie ever tell you about the prison?”  Daryl interrupted, staring into the fire.

“A little,” Jesus said, confused.  “She said you were there for about 6-7 months.  Some guy calling himself the governor attacked and destroyed the place.  Murdered her father.”

“Before that,” Daryl said, passing Jesus a handkerchief when he started to cough again.  “Right before, there was some kind of flu.  Nasty shit.  People coughin’ up blood and bleedin’ from their eyes.”

“I’m not …”

“We lost 12 people the first day,” Daryl interrupted again, still staring into the fire.  “Some died from the flu overnight.  The rest were killed when they turned into walkers.  One of ‘em was just a kid.  About Carl’s age.  He was fine that mornin’, shakin’ my hand and thankin’ me for bringin’ in a deer.  Just a few hours later, he was dead and eatin’ people.”

“Oh God,” Jesus said, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.  This isn’t like that, Daryl.  I promise.”

“I know,” Daryl said as he put some of the berries and herbs into the kettle.  “But you’re sick.  You’ve got a fever.”  He set the kettle aside to steep and started pulling more things of his pack and the box.  Dry clothes, rags, alcohol, and more aspirin.  “Maggie’s dad, Hershel – he was a rock.  Made the survivors elderberry tea,” he said, gesturing towards the kettle.  “Some kind of home remedy his wife showed him.  It worked.”

Calmer now, Daryl checked the tea and looked over at Jesus.  “Need to get out of them wet clothes.  Gotta get that fever down.”

“Sorry I snapped at you,” Jesus said.  With his temper drained, the weakness returned.  He struggled to remove his wet, leather duster.  “I hate being sick and feeling useless,” he admitted as Daryl helped him out of the long coat.

“Me too,” Daryl said, shrugging.  “I’d have done the same.  Sorry I snapped back.”

Jesus managed to get his wet shirt off, then sank down, his body leaden.  His vision was blurred and everything was out of focus.  He made no protest when Daryl helped him remove his boots and soaked pants.  He slipped out of his underwear while Daryl retrieved the bucket of melted snow and poured some alcohol into it.  Exhausted from the effort, he lay passively while Daryl dipped a rag into the water and gently bathed him with the cool water from head to foot.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to get naked with you,” he murmured.

“What?”  Daryl put the rag back in the bucket and stared at Jesus, but he just blinked at him groggily.  “Never mind.  I got some dry clothes for you.”

Daryl helped Jesus put on some loose cotton pants, a long sleeve tee, and dry socks.  His skin was still hot to the touch, but Daryl thought the fever might have come down a little bit.  He poured the elderberry tea into the two mugs and handed one to Jesus.

“Your clothes are wet too,” Jesus mumbled as he blew on the hot tea.

“Not that bad,” said Daryl.  “I got some to change though.”

Jesus just nodded and sipped his tea to wash down the aspirin Daryl handed him.  It was surprisingly good, subtly sweet with a hint of cinnamon, and the hot liquid felt glorious sliding down his throat.  The pounding in his head had finally started to ease off, but he still felt very lightheaded and a bit dizzy.  He continued to sip at his tea as Daryl changed, blushing furiously and turning his back to put on a pair of loose sweats.  When Daryl sat back on the sofa with his own tea, Jesus leaned against him and sighed.  Daryl stiffened slightly, but didn’t push him away.

“Tea’s good.  Thanks.”

Daryl just shrugged and took a drink of his tea, trying to relax.  “It should help.”

“That why you’re drinking it too?”  Jesus didn’t move, but the thought wiggled its way to the front of his brain.  “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’m okay,” Daryl said.  “Just bein’ cautious.  Neither of us needs that kind of nightmare before Christmas.”

“Mmmm … good movie,” Jesus slurred, yawning against his shoulder.

“What movie?”

“ _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.”

Daryl wanted to ask more about it, but Jesus was already falling asleep.  Daryl took the empty mug from his hand before he dropped it and set it on the table next to the sofa.  He sat there for a moment, wondering what he should do now.  It was nice, just sitting by the fire with Jesus cuddled up against him.  But he was still worried.  Jesus was really sick.  His skin was still warm and his breathing uneven.  He could only hope that the tea and aspirin would help.  Without thinking about it, he wrapped his arm around Jesus protectively and finished his own tea.

He must have dozed, for he awakened with a start as Jesus jerked against him.  “No, no.  Don’t.”  A nightmare, Daryl realized.  He stroked Jesus’s arm and tried to soothe him.  “It’s okay.  Just a dream.  You’re safe.”

Jesus was burning up again. As Daryl muttered soothing words to keep him calm, he mashed up four aspirin and fed them to Jesus with a spoonful of water.  He poured more tea and helped Jesus drink it.  Then he stripped him down and bathed his body with the cool water and alcohol.  It seemed to work.  His body felt a little cooler now.  Not bothering to dress him again, Daryl tucked Jesus into the bed and climbed in behind him.  He pulled Jesus against him and buried his face into his hair, praying that his fever would go down.

He didn’t sleep again.  Twice, Daryl got up to stoke the fire and add more wood.  He’d need to find more in the morning, but he thought they had enough to get through the night.  Three times, Jesus woke, his body burning hot and delirious from the fever.  He had more nightmares and Daryl did what he could to calm him while giving him more aspirin and tea.  Periodically, he bathed Jesus’s body with cool water and alcohol to bring his temperature down.  He wished they were back at Hilltop with Dr. Carson.  He prayed that he was doing the right things and Jesus would get better.

As dawn broke, Jesus stirred again.  No nightmare this time, but his fever was back up.  Daryl went through the routine again, giving him aspirin and the elderberry tea.  As he bathed Jesus’s body with alcohol, Jesus stared at him.  His eyes were glassy and unfocused.

“You’re so cute,” he said, voice still raspy and slightly slurred.  “I can’t tell you ‘cause you’d prob’ly punch me, but you’re just so damn adorable.”

Daryl could feel his face heating up as Jesus rambled.  _Was this real?_   He couldn’t be sure if it was just the delirium from the fever or if Jesus meant what he was saying.  He wanted it to be real.  So much his heart tightened painfully in his chest.  “I wouldn’t punch you over that,” he managed.

“Good to know,” Jesus said, giggling.  “I love looking at you.  Those arms … mmmm.”  Jesus ran his hand over Daryl’s shoulder and down his arm.  I want to feel them around me all the time.  Can’t stop thinking about it.”

Daryl felt the blush spreading down his neck as he set the rag back in the bucket.  He had no idea how to respond to that and he was sure Jesus would never remember saying any of this.  God was playing a cosmic joke on him.  The man of his dreams was telling him everything he wanted to hear, but he was delirious and probably didn’t mean a word of it.  He debated with himself for a moment before getting back in the bed and wrapping his arms around Jesus.  If it wasn’t real, he’d deal with it.  For now, he was going to just go along and hope it helped Jesus feel better.  It damn sure made him feel better.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Jesus said, wiggling his body back against Daryl’s.  “Even better than I imagined.”

“Be still,” Daryl said, trying not to think about how good it felt to have Jesus wiggling against him.  And failing.  “You still have a fever.  You need more rest.”

“Okay,” Jesus said amiably.  “I wish I could tell you when I’m not dreaming.  It’s a good dream, but I want to do it for real.  To kiss you for real.  To kiss and lick …”

“Shush,” Daryl interrupted quickly before the image Jesus was painting became too vivid in his mind.  He cleared his throat and deciding to take a chance, he kissed Jesus’s cheek softly.  “Go back to sleep.  You can tell me when you wake up.”  _Please tell me when you wake up_ , he added to himself.

“Okay.”

Jesus tortured Daryl by wiggling a little more so Daryl just gave up and tightened his arms, pulling him closer until he stilled.  Jesus gave a contented sigh and, finally, fell back to sleep.  Daryl rested his forehead against the top of Jesus’s head and breathed slowly to get himself under control.  He wasn’t sure, but it seemed like Jesus was breathing easier now and his body felt cooler.  He kissed Jesus’s cheek again.  “You’re gonna get well,” he promised.  Intending to close his eyes for just a moment to rest them, he fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jesus opened his eyes, and watched the unfamiliar room slowly come into focus, he had no idea where he was.  It took long minutes for awareness to seep into his consciousness.  _The cabin_ , he remembered.  They had come here after the food bank because of the snow. His body felt battered and sore, and he felt like he had returned from a long, wearying journey.  He started coughing and the arms around him tightened briefly before letting go.

“Shhh.  It’s okay.  I’ll get more tea.”

“Daryl?”  Jesus sat up, confused as Daryl got out of bed.  He watched him stoke the fire and pour something from a kettle into a mug.  _Elderberry tea_ , he remembered.  He’d gotten sick and Daryl had taken care of him.  Everything was kind of fuzzy and vague, but he remembered that much.  But he didn’t know how they’d ended up in bed together or …

“Umm… I’m kind of naked under here,” he said, glancing at Daryl uncertainly.

“I know,” Daryl looked over at him, his eyes bleary.  “Fever kept spikin’.”  He yawned as he handed Jesus some aspirin and the mug of tea.  “I … um … washed you to bring it down.”  He pointed at the bucket next to the bed.  “Didn’t know what else to do.”

“Did you stay up all night?”

“Most of it.”  Daryl yawned again and stretched back out on the bed.  “I think I fell asleep around dawn.  After the last time you woke up and …”  He stiffened, remembering what Jesus had said.  “And it seemed like the fever might’ve broken,” he finished, clearing his throat.

Jesus stared into his mug.  Everything was a blur, but bits and pieces were coming back to him.  He just wasn’t sure how much of what he remembered had actually happened and how much he had dreamed.  He always had vivid dreams when he was feverish.  He took a drink of the tea, appreciating how it soothed his throat.  There was another rag on the bedside table so he used that to blow his nose.

“I feel better now,” he began, not really sure what to say.  “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“It’s what we do,” Daryl said, shrugging.  He wanted to ask – to hear it now while Jesus was awake and aware – but he was afraid.

“It’s kind of like camping,” Jesus said, scrambling for something to break the awkwardness.  “Cabin out in the middle of nowhere, roaring fire …  It’s too bad we didn’t find any marshmallows.”

Daryl snorted.  “They’d be hard as rocks even if we had.”

“True.  But roasting them was always the fun part.  I never could eat more than one or two – too sweet.”

“Never did nothin’ like that,” said Daryl.  “We only camped when we were huntin’.  Just ate whatever we caught.”

“So, hunting wasn’t just a hobby?”  Jesus curled his legs under him and sipped at his tea, grateful for the chance to get to know more about Daryl.

“No,” Daryl said, shaking his head.  “Gotta eat.  Didn’t always have enough money to buy food.  And Merle preferred to spend his money on drugs.”  Daryl sat up and crossed his arms over his knees.  He might be ruining things, but he felt Jesus deserved to know the truth.  “I drank too much … like the old man.  Didn’t like drugs.  Those were our hobbies.  Mostly, I just hung around Merle, doin’ whatever he wanted.  We hunted and fished to keep food in the house.”

“It’s hard,” Jesus began slowly, wanting Daryl to know he understood.  “Not knowing where your next meal will come from.  In the group home, there were always regular meals.  But it wasn’t always like that when you got placed with a family.  Some of them just took in foster kids for the money.”

Daryl could only stare.  He hadn’t expected Jesus to understand – or to know.  “I like huntin’ though.  Even when we didn’t need food, I liked just bein’ out there.  Trackin’ was somethin’ I was good at and it was … better I guess.”

Jesus nodded.  “I started studying martial arts to defend myself at first.  The only openly gay kid in a group home is an easy target.  But I was good at it and it gave me a sense of … a kind of peace I guess.”

“You told people?”  Daryl stared at his hands.  It was an opening if he was brave enough to take it.

“Not exactly,” said Jesus with a sigh.  “I tried to kiss a boy I had a crush on.  He was furious and, after punching me, he told everyone.”

“My old man would’ve beat me bloody,” Daryl said quietly, still staring at his hands.  They were shaking and his heart was racing.  “Merle probably would’ve too.  If they’d known.”

Jesus wondered for a moment if he was still caught in the delirium of his fever.  _Was Daryl trying to tell him …_   It didn’t seem possible.  He’d hoped, but …  Carefully, he placed his hand on Daryl’s shoulder.  He stiffened, but didn’t pull away.  “You never told anyone?”

Daryl shook his head.  “Never told.  Never tried nothin’ so they wouldn’t find out.”  He let out an explosive breath.  “I think Merle might’ve suspected.  He was always makin’ fun of me and tossin’ women at me.”  Daryl glanced at Jesus and away.  “I went along with it ‘cause I didn’t want him to know.  But it never felt right.”

“What about Rick?”  Jesus stroked his hand up and down Daryl’s shoulder, trying to give some comfort.

“He wouldn’t care,” Daryl said, finally looking Jesus in the eye.  “I know that.  None of them would.  But there weren’t no one …  I mean, Aaron and Eric had each other, but …”  He let out another breath and looked away.  “I just didn’t see any point in it.”

“And now?”  Jesus tugged on Daryl’s shirt sleeve, hoping he would look at him again.  “Why did you tell me?”

“Last night …” Daryl cleared his throat and picked at the blanket.  “I mean, this morning … at dawn.  You woke up and …”

Jesus grimaced.  He’d hoped that was just a dream.  “How badly did I embarrass myself?”

“I don’t know,” Daryl said, blushing.  “Did you mean it?”

Hope fluttered through Jesus’s chest.  “Every word.  That I can remember,” he amended with a grin.

Daryl grinned back at him, a little nervously.  “You said … umm … that you wanted to …”

Jesus leaned forward and captured Daryl’s lips with his.  Soft and gentle, keeping it light to give Daryl time.  He felt Daryl’s arms come around him slowly and his lips moved, tentatively.  He placed his hands on Daryl’s face and slid his tongue across the seam of Daryl’s mouth.  When his lips parted, Jesus plunged in, swirling his tongue around Daryl’s in a dirty slide.  Their moans filled the cabin as Daryl pulled Jesus closer.  Jesus pulled back, panting and grinned.

“I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time.”

“Me too,” Daryl admitted, smiling back.  “But you’re still sick.  We probably shouldn’t …”

“I’m feeling a lot better thanks to you,” Jesus said, holding on so Daryl couldn’t pull away.  “It was probably just some 24-hour bug.  Just have to wait for the congestion to clear up.  There is one problem though.”

“What’s that?”  Daryl nervously looked Jesus over.  His skin was cool and he hadn’t heard that crackling sound when he breathed.  He didn’t see anything obviously wrong.

“I’m naked and you’re not.”

Daryl blushed, but couldn’t help but grin at Jesus’s expression.  “We can fix that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! Hope everyone enjoys this one. Comments and kudos are much appreciated. Thanks to beejohnlocked for beta reading this for me.


End file.
